Bone Moon: Pocono Mountain Mystery, #3

By Joanne Weck

A wealthy couple is found murdered in their beds, their teenage daughter the only survivor. The boyfriend, a penniless college student who has been bansihed from the house, is named the prime suspect. Frankie Lupino, amateur sleuth, discovers that the couple was involved in unsavory financial dealings and had powerful enemies. A mysterious bone moon pendant may provide a clue to the perpetrator of this vicious crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JW & MC Publishing
• Release date: Jun 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359714599

Joanne Weck

Joanne (Liebhauser) Weck, novelist, playwright, and short story author, draws upon family history to inspire many of her tales set in rural Pennsylvania where she grew up. She uses her experiences as an actress, director, and teacher, as well. She is represented by EVAN MARSHALL Literary Agency Her hobbies include all-nighters watching True Crime programs on TV while eating chocolate in copious quantities, snuggling her small dog, Babydoll, horseback riding, and flying (in a plane) to California and Florida to visit family

Book preview

Bone Moon

. . . .He let out a low, harsh sound, perhaps meant to be a laugh. You don’t have to be a genius to get what you need. He backed away from the desk several inches and Frankie saw he was holding a revolver aimed directly at her chest. In fact, it’s pretty easy when everybody around you is stupid.

Frankie felt her heart thud. She froze in place. Keep calm. Keep calm. Her hands trembled as she calculated the height of the desk. If I drop to the floor and crawl I might make it to the door before he can navigate around it. Muscles tensed, she brazened it out. You had Krystal get the drug, didn’t you? Will you let her take the blame for shooting me, too?

She’ll come up with an alibi. His hand trembled as he aimed the gun at Frankie. His finger was on the trigger.

Damn! I’ve gone too far. She dropped to the floor moments before he fired. She heard the explosion and a muffled thud as the bullet struck the wall behind her. Crouching, keeping low, she scuttled toward the door, afraid to look back.

Also by J. Weck

Crimson Ice

Double Deception

Fateful Encounters

Bone  Moon

BY

J.  Weck

JW & MC Publishing

Bone Moon

A Pocono Mountain Mystery

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons

living or dead, locals, or events are entirely coincidental.

http://www.Joanneweck.com

All rights reserved

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of reviews.

Copyright © 2019 by Joanne Weck

ISBN 978-0-359-71459-9

Cover Design by Margaret Carson

Cover Photo by  Kumar Ganapathy

––––––––

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Rose, Jessica, Mandy, and Tina

I would like to thank Margaret Carson, Elisa Chalem, and members of my writers’ group for their creative insight and encouragement

CHAPTER 1

Where the hell is Lourdes? Frankie stabbed at the doorbell for the third time; she stood on the porch of a neat ranch house with a Smiley Face Daycare sign. Bright swing sets and monkey bars adorned the front lawn. She was running late, due for a director's meeting at the Shawnee Playhouse in just forty minutes and the drive alone would take that long. A tall slim young woman, she usually moved with natural grace, but this morning she was late and a bit short tempered. Her thick red hair, pulled back and secured with a clip, was still damp from her shower; she wore jeans and a white tee shirt with a light blue suit jacket thrown over it for professional credibility. A child’s backpack hung from her shoulder.

She was too rushed to appreciate the soft spring breeze or the scent of the huge pine trees that surrounded the house and yard. She’d helped the three small children—her son Jeffrey, as well as her niece, Autumn, and nephew, Gordie, from their car seats and urged them to hurry, but they lagged behind.

Five-year-old Autumn picked up smooth white stones from the driveway and put them into her pockets. The two little boys straggled up the flagstone steps. Frankie grabbed hold of her son’s hand as she rang the bell again.  He tugged towards the bright yellow gym set on the front lawn. Let me go, Mommy. I want to go on the swing.

Me too, Gordie echoed. I want to go on the swing, too.

Maybe later, Lourdes or Jamila will take you out at playtime. Why is the door still locked at 10:00 o’clock on a Monday morning when I’m already late? Jeffrey was sturdy for a four-year-old, and inclined to bully his younger cousin. He twisted loose from Frankie’s grasp and gave his three-year-old cousin a shove. Gordie slipped off the top stair and tumbled, howling as he fell. Christ! Jeffrey! You’re due for a time out! I don’t need this now! Gordie, honey, are you okay?

The little boy was already scrambling back up the stairs. Frankie glanced at his sister who was observing their antics with a placid expression.

Please, Autumn, I need you to hold onto your brother! She checked her watch. Aunt Frankie's late for work. Autumn turned with a sigh and, dragging her small pink backpack, scampered after Gordie.

Lourdes finally appeared, cracking the door open a few inches, but then, seeing Frankie and the children, swung it wide. Frankie, come. Buenos dias, ninos. Usually she greeted them with a smile and hot coffee and a roll for Frankie. This morning her eyes were troubled and a frown furrowed her brow.  Today her long dark hair was not pinned neatly into a coil at the back of her head, but spilling around her face and falling to her shoulders. She directed a forced smile at the children, but her expression remained strained. Come in. Jamila is waiting downstairs.

The scent of fresh-perked coffee and something baking, cinnamon and apples, wafted toward them. Lourdes closed the door and herded the children toward the preschool area with her usual reminder. Be careful on the stairs.

Frankie knelt to remove the children's shoes before opening the door leading to the basement. She heard Jamila, the assistant teacher, greeting them, and the raucous voices of other children. 

Something’s going on. Frankie glanced at her watch, but then hurried down the hallway in the direction Lourdes had gone. She heard a loud male voice as she approached. There was a quick flurry of movement as she entered the kitchen. She caught a glimpse of a young man just inside, near the open back door. He was gesturing with arms wide-flung and shouting in animated Spanish.

Frankie’s eyes were drawn to bright red stains on his gray sweatshirt. He’s spilled red paint all over himself. Then she gasped. Was it paint? Or blood? When he saw Frankie, he started, then panicked. He shoved Lourdes aside and fled through the open door. In that brief moment, however, Frankie had recognized him—Paco, Lourdes' teenage nephew. 

Paco was a young man that people, especially women, noticed. His huge dark eyes and thick lustrous hair were much like his aunt's, but that was where the similarity ended. While Lourdes was short and sturdy, barely five feet in her slippers, Paco was over six feet, lean and muscled, with prominent cheekbones, a full mouth, and smooth golden skin. He usually wore an air of bruised arrogance but today that had been replaced by the face of a terrified boy.

Lourdes rushed outside after him, her voice a thin wail. Paco, no! His reply was incoherent, followed by the sound of a car door slamming and an engine revving up. The only vehicle Frankie had noticed when she'd arrived was Larry's landscaping truck parked in the driveway. That meant that Lourdes’ husband was probably still somewhere in the house, garage, or garden shed. Lourdes stumbled back into the kitchen and sank down heavily at the small table.

Lourdes, what is it?  What’s happened? Frankie hurried across the room and placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

Dios mio! Lourdes looked up, tears glittering in her eyes. Frankie had known her for six years, ever since she'd come from El Salvador to work as a nanny, originally for Frankie’s sister. Since then Lourdes had married Larry McCoy, a local landscaper, and established her daycare business. She had provided loving support for Frankie when, two years previously, her sister, Rocky, had been murdered.  They’d become fast friends in the difficult times that followed.

What happened to Paco? Frankie’s skin prickled with alarm. Was that blood on his shirt?  Is he hurt?

There is much trouble!  Lourdes started to sob. Frankie, you must help me!  He is a good boy!

What happened? Frankie repeated. Has he hurt someone else?

Muerto!  Dead! she sobbed. That girl, his novia!  I have told him she is causing much trouble!

His girlfriend is dead? Frankie felt her heart lurch.

No!  No! Not the girl.  It is her padres, her parents. Lourdes struggled to explain, tripping over her words. He says they have been murdered! Paco and this girl, Madi, Madi-gan, have found them, shot in their own house!  He has done nothing, but he is afraid!

The police were called? Frankie asked.

Si! She has called the policia. But he has left before they come. He was forbidden to be in the house. They, the policia, have come here looking for him this morning. I told them nothing. I knew nothing of this until now.

They're going to insist on talking to him. Frankie sat down beside her friend who was trying to choke back sobs. At that moment, her important meeting receded into the background. Where would he go?

I don't know this. Lourdes looked up, her words coming with difficulty. He is scared, very scared. He can’t go back to his rooming place.

What was he doing at the girlfriend’s house? Frankie put an arm around her friend’s shoulder.

The father does not give him the chance. He does not like Paco because he is not rich, not white.

Is this the place where Paco was working? Frankie knew Larry trusted Paco to do landscaping and gardening for several large estates that his company serviced.

Si. The father, and Paco, they have a fight, last week, because he finds that the daughter, this Madigan, she is sneaking Paco into her room at night. He fires Paco from his job. He calls up Larry. Tells him he don’t want Paco working for him no more. They will arrest him, I think.

"Don't cry, Lourdes. You've got to talk to him. They can't arrest him just for being at the scene! They have to prove he was involved. Running is the worst thing he could do. That makes it look like he has something to hide.

He is a good boy. He goes to school, Lourdes wailed again. He works hard. It is this girl who makes trouble for him, all the time fighting with her family. Frankie knew Lourdes was inordinately proud of her handsome young nephew, the first of their family to attend college. Not only to graduate from high school but to graduate with honors and win scholarships. Lourdes made sure his work with her husband's landscaping business didn't interfere with his classes at East Stroudsburg University.

How did he get blood on his shirt?  What did he tell you?

He is again with his novia, this Madigan, in her house, he says. It is after midnight and he is sleeping when he hears his novia screaming. Then he is running out to the hall and finding the mother on the floor, much blood everywhere. And the stepfather, too, he is in the bed, shot in the head!  Madigan tells Paco he must run away and then she is calling for the police!

I'm going to call Sarv. Frankie dug into her handbag for her cell phone. He'll know what we should do.

Roman Sarv Sarvonsky, a private detective and Frankie's fiancé, was at the moment in New York consulting on an old case with friends from the NYPD. A former New York cop, detective grade, Sarvonsky had been assigned to the 44th Precinct, in the Bronx, for ten years. He'd worked undercover for five of them, been injured in a shootout, and retired on disability.

Frankie had met him when she’d hired him to investigate the murder of her sister. They’d become close during the course of his investigation and later they’d become even closer. She’d moved into his Pocono Mountain cabin with him, bringing her son Jeffery. On alternate weekends the household included her sister’s children as well.

Frankie punched in Sarv’s code. After a few rings she realized he wasn't answering and left a terse message. She tried the office at the Shawnee Playhouse and, getting voicemail, left a message that she would be late.

I’ll call the Swiftwater State Police—Detective Ransome too, but I think first we've got to find Paco.

Lourdes gave her a blank stare. She’s probably still in shock. Listen Lourdes, there’s nothing we can do at the moment. I'm so sorry, but I’m very late for an important meeting. Is Larry home?

He is still sleeping. He was late working last night.

Well, wake him up, and tell him what happened. Tell him not to do anything until Sarv gets in touch with him. Frankie pocketed her phone, reluctant to leave. But knowing that the director, cast, and crew would